


Plan: Get Thorin To Bed Without A Fuss

by neverlandlumos



Category: The Hobbit
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverlandlumos/pseuds/neverlandlumos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin unintentionally starts a riot at a tavern defending Thorin, who at first, is displeased at being seen as a damsel in distress. After some deliberation, he has a change of heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan: Get Thorin To Bed Without A Fuss

**Author's Note:**

> neverlandlost.tumblr.com

Nilr is two seconds away from getting his face punched in.

Dwalin has only had the pleasure of meeting this particular dwarf a few times, and each occasion, he’s left a bad impression on Dwalin. He is a stout dwarf, which is saying something, his dirty, ratty hair is messy around his chubby face accompanied with beady eyes.

It was Nori’s idea, coming to the tavern. Ered Luin is prosperous in these recent times, marketplaces and pubs alive with parties, the night market is in full swing for the first time since their relocation to the Blue Mountains. It has been a long day for Dwalin, working away in the armoury he, Balin and their father Fundin have established, and weapons training with Thorin.

Thorin is the topic of conversation, as it so often happens. Dwalin figures because he is Thorin’s guardian, others immediately assume they are in some kind of coupling, and sure, Thorin is pleasing to the eye, however his tempestuous personality has Dwalin’s patience in smithereens by the end of their meetings. Despite that, he cares for Thorin and considers him a close friend, and it is his job to protect him.

“Does he bend over for you, Dwalin?” Nilr sneers, breath heavy with ale, face mere centimetres from Dwalin’s. “Does his loyal guard punish him should he… _misbehave_?”

Dwalin grits his teeth behind a forced smile. A rapid surge to protect Thorin sweeps through him, unrelenting and before Dwalin can comprehend his own actions, his hands curl into fists in the other Dwarf’s clothing, tight, drawing him close, smashing his own forehead against the other’s, taking care to hit the temple, the only weakness in the skull. 

He knows if Thorin was to find out, even though Dwalin knows he will, the prince will be furious, unwilling to be portrayed as a damsel in distress. Dwalin considers his options, as adrenaline rushes through him, deafening him to everything else around him, his anger the only driving force keeping him on track and his goal in mind.

 _Thorin_.

Dwalin contemplates over his thoughts as his upturned palm collides brutally with Nilr’s chin, throwing him off balance, just enough time for Dwalin to jump forward; aim a well placed kick to his left knee cap, quickly bringing his fist around easily rattling the other’s teeth as it connects with a dirty crunch to his jaw.

Nilr manages to land a swift punch to Dwalin’s abdomen, though he pays it no heed, even as the breath is forced from his lungs. He raises the other Dwarf off the floor with his own strength, propelling him onto the nearest table, forcing the other patrons around it to jump away in surprise. Mugs full of ale clatter off the tabletop and fall to the floor messily, maidens shrieking in alarm at the hems of the dress are dirtied and stood on.

Nilr does not move from the table, Dwalin takes a moment to readjust his clothing before he is tackled to the ground by another, one of Nilr’s friends he assumes. He twists in his new opponent’s grip, grabbing the back of his head and smashing it into the floor where they have both landed heavily.

Dwalin stands once again, peering around him, which the pub has now erupted into a full-scale brawl, Dwarves who had no quarrel with either Dwalin nor Nilr are now involved in fights of their own.

“Enough!”

Dwalin whips his head to the entrance of the pub upon hearing Thrain’s booming voice. Everyone, bar maids and brawlers alike stand entirely still, all looking at the heir. Several glasses fall in their neglect, few Dwarves groan in pain, impossibly loud in the silence.

“What has happened here?” Thrain demands.

“Dwalin started it, my Lord, we swear it!”

Dwalin rolls his eyes, not surprised he’s the first to be ratted out, even though he technically didn’t start the altercation. 

Thrain’s only eye pierces him from across the pub.

“Come with me, young Dwalin.”

*

The silence is excruciating. Dwalin does not speak, he waits for Thrain to begin reprimanding him, or to even acknowledge him. Thrain stays silent for their long walk back to the Kingdom, only dipping his head when villagers bow to him. 

“I understand you spend a lot of time with my son,” Thrain says.

Dwalin nods. “Yes, I do, My Lord. Tha’ is my title as guardian.”

Thrain hums thoughtfully and purses his lips. “Indeed.”

“My Lord?” Dwalin asks, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“Guardians are not like yourself,” Thrain responds after a long moment, his tone stern.

Dwalin remains silent, though internally fretting at Thrain’s words. He has not vocalised any feelings or love for the prince, but Dwalin hopes Thrain is assuming such things out of fatherly instinct. He has no idea what this may spell for he and Thorin, his heart clenches at the thought of never seeing Thorin again, he knows Thrain is displeased with his actions at the pub.

“My son is very dear to me,” Thrain continues, gesturing thanks to the guardsmen who open the kingdom’s gates with two fingers. “All three of my children are my very livelihood, young Dwalin.”

“Thorin understands tha’, my Lord.”

“Does he? How can he? I have neglected their welfare in favour of care taking my father’s needs,” Thrain says, lowering to a whisper. 

“Any so-called neglect is understood, Thror is his grandfather an’ Thorin loves ‘im dearly, an’ he knows Thror needs help an’ assistance. You have not neglected him, my Lord.”

“Do you love my son?” Thrain asks, the sudden change in topic almost gives Dwalin whiplash. So Thrain does know. His stomach sinks at the question, though does not shy away from it.

“Aye, I do.”

“You take care of my son, Dwalin. You take care of my _baby_ until death takes him, or you.” Thrain’s voice quivers over the term of endearment, and turns away.

“I will, my Lord.”

Thrain regards him for a long moment. “Swear it.”

“I swear,” Dwalin says, meeting Thrain when he dips his forehead to touch his own. “‘Til death.”

“… and stop brawling in pubs, please, Dwalin.”

*

“Protecting my honour are we, Dwalin?” Thorin asks, coy, a strange look flickers over his eyes, one Dwalin has never seen before. His voice is teasing, playful.

Dwalin does not have time for these childish games. “Only because ye cannot protect it yaself,” he snaps, hoping his tone will make Thorin leave the conversation be, so he can resume to mulling over his own thoughts.

Thorin smiles at him, again, his expression is unreadable, and Dwalin stares.

“Did your father tell ye?” Dwalin asks, returning to straightening Thorin’s weapons, grabbing the whetstone and settling in an armchair. He runs the stone down the blade, avoiding Thorin’s gaze. Dwalin has had a long, long day, the evening creeping upon them much quicker than he thought, surpassing their bed time, he hopes that Thorin will forget about the events of today and go to bed. 

“No,” Thorin says confusedly, “Balin told me. Why? Has my father spoken to you?” 

Dwalin is quick to dodge that conversation. “No, I jus’ assumed. No matter.”

“I don’t need you protecting me all the time, Dwalin.”

Dwalin ignores the comment, continuing to sharpen the blade. Thorin makes a tutting sound, one he does when he feels like belittling Dwalin like a child, and Dwalin wants to rip his tongue out of his head. His last tether of patience snaps when Thorin makes the sound again.

“Shut the fuck up, would ya? I fuckin’ helped defend your sorry hide! Show some fuckin’ gratitude, your _Highness_!”

Thorin stares, then narrows his eyes. A no-nonsense frown settles in and Dwalin knows he’s now made Thorin extremely angry and mentally stands his ground.

“ _How dare you speak_ to me in this way? Do not speak to me like that!” Thorin jumps up from where he is seated, and so does Dwalin, mentally cursing at his own words, knowing Thorin is now in an established ‘I will argue with Dwalin over everything and anything’ mood, and will _definitely not go to bed at this rate_. 

“Why? Can’t take it? I’ve had it up to ‘ere,” Dwalin gestures to his eyes with an angry fist, “with ye shit, Thorin, honestly.”

Thorin’s teeth gnash together, loudly, loud enough Dwalin can hear it. Veins are pulsing at the prince’s temples, the beginning of an angry flush surging up his neck.

“Disrespectful fucker,” Thorin barks, pushing Dwalin against the wall haphazardly. Dwalin regains some balance, but cannot move away quick enough, and before he knows it, Thorin has a hand yanking painfully on his hair, the other wound so tightly around his neck he begins to feel light headed. He knows what Thorin is doing and Dwalin will not yield to an ungrateful brat, prince or not. He kicks Thorin’s leg messily, almost missing the prince entirely, but the move is unexpected, and Thorin staggers and falls, bringing Dwalin down with him.

That was not part of _Plan: Get Thorin To Bed Without A Fuss._

And oh boy, Thorin is making things very difficult and very painful - a monstrous bite worthy of a feral mongrel breaks flesh at his neck, Dwalin barely avoiding causing Thorin brain damage when he forces the prince’s head back, smashing it against the floor.

He bodily heaves himself on top of Thorin, pinning him, his bulk is his only advantage. Dwalin’s blood lingers on Thorin’s lip, and he forces himself not to stare at it. Thorin bucks his hips to free himself, Dwalin forces his weight on Thorin’s sore leg - the one he kicked in the beginnings of their spat. Thorin cries out, trying to use his other leg as leverage to weasel his way from under Dwalin.

Dwalin grabs Thorin’s head with strong hands, forcing himself to remain completely still as he peers down into Thorin’s face, hoping the prince will become aware of the mood change in the room, the change in his mood.

Dwalin does not want to hurt Thorin. He never has, and he never will.

Thorin seems to understand this, no longer restraining his heavy pants, chest heaving at the strain. They don’t move for some time, barely registering that Dwalin is on top of the prince, Dwalin almost flinches when Thorin’s fingers trace the bite mark on his neck, fingers soothing the imprints Thorin’s teeth have left in Dwalin’s flesh.

They shift so they are both sitting in front of the fireplace, silent, eating some of the food the dwarf maid brought in before their return. Thorin sips his mead with drooping eyes. Dwalin is ready to declare they retire for the evening when Thorin moves forward, so quickly he barely registers it, breath stuck in his chest when he feels Thorin’s lips against the bite at his neck.

The only sound between them is Dwalin’s shocked grunt, later followed by a wet, obscene sound that Dwalin will never forget, that marks Thorin’s tongue joining his neck in the beginnings of a love bite. Uncommon amongst men, dwarf women adore them, a symbol of sexual activity or belonging, Dwalin cares not - under most circumstances. What does this mean for Thorin? Surely, the prince knows what he is doing.

Dwalin’s breath hitches when Thorin’s mouth moves up, suckling on the column of flesh, running the teeth of his top jaw along as he does, Dwalin gnawing on his own lip to remain silent, though his body turns traitor, arousal beginning to stir in his groin.

This was not part of _Plan: Get Thorin To Bed Without A Fuss_ , either.

Thorin tightens his mouth against Dwalin’s pulse and sucks the skin into his mouth, bruise forming easily, and Dwalin lets a small sound escape despite his best efforts, though Thorin remains unsatisfied by his response it seems, continuing his ministrations and running his tongue over the newly formed love bite and down his collarbone.

Thorin’s hand joins his mouth on Dwalin’s body, though only briefly to pull the shirts out of the way, armour abandoned earlier. Thorin moves closer, lapping at his clavicle and back up his neck to the other side, playing with the flesh under his ear.

Dwalin’s releases a held breath through his nose, determined to remain silent. Thorin hums at this, sucking harder, bringing a hand up and cupping the back of Dwalin’s neck to guide him to the side. He knows certain people have certain spots on their bodies they enjoy being stimulated aside the obvious genitals, and is rather displeased when Thorin appears to have found his, hot tongue sucking his neck, at just the right spot that has Dwalin’s mouth dropping open on a moan.

Thorin smiles against his neck, a big smile, enough that Dwalin can feel the ridges of his teeth against his skin. He is aroused now, though still annoyed with the prince, so he childishly does not acknowledge Thorin’s behaviour.

Thorin lifts his head and stares at him, Dwalin smugly impressed when he recognises the blush on Thorin’s cheeks as arousal, and it suits Thorin.

 _Plan: Get Thorin To Bed Without A Fuss_ is slipping away fast taking his self control with it.

The prince licks his lip, seeming to decide his next movements, resorting to pressing Dwalin’s shoulders backward, pushing him onto his back. Dwalin attempts to protest, displeased now, but Thorin sheds his fur overcoat to the side and sits atop his crotch, legs snug against Dwalin’s hips.

His hips give a traitorous roll under Thorin at the unexpected weight and friction, and Thorin smirks against his cheek, his face is so close to Dwalin’s now, he knows they are crossing all boundaries, if they proceed they cannot undo what they’ve done. Thorin cares not, and enjoys this torturous foreplay he’s inflicting upon Dwalin, lip brushing against his ear and down, back to his neck. His tongue stays behind his teeth this time, only leaving soft kisses against the many love bites scattered he has scattered along Dwalin’s flesh.

Thorin’s hair falls around his face and tickles his own, so Dwalin reaches up and ties it loosely at the base of Thorin’s neck with a leather strap originally a bracelet around his wrist. Thorin looks strange now, so different in the light of their actions, now something of a lover. Dwalin tries not to choke on his own tongue at the thought. Thorin as a lover would be similar to that of taming a feral bitch with a litter - undesirable and preferable to avoid.

But it _is_ Thorin; Dwalin cannot resist, and he knows it. Thorin like this is something else, Dwalin craves it more than any gold. He places a hand on Thorin’s hip for him to continue.

Thorin smiles before he kisses Dwalin, and Dwalin finds it sweet. They stay closed mouth for some time, neither wishing to be too needy, though Thorin’s weight sags against his chest, and the hold of his thighs weakens some when his legs spread slightly as his lust deepens.

Thorin forcefully kisses him now, eagerness slipping into his actions, and Dwalin concedes, opening his mouth and meeting Thorin with his own tongue. The sudden heat of the kiss sets his loins aflame, the sheer intensity of it almost makes him dizzy from where they lay. Thorin grinds against him in response, kissing Dwalin until he runs out of breath.

 _Plan: Get Thorin To Bed Without A Fuss_ is well and truly shot to shit when Thorin’s hand somehow makes its way into Dwalin’s breeches.

Dwalin’s breath hitches as Thorin’s fingers trace over his heated flesh, rough due to the callouses on his palms and fingertips, but he pays it no heed, jerking his hips upward for more friction. Thorin tightens his hand, circling his shaft and running his hand up and down, breath quickening as he pleasures Dwalin. Thorin finds his lips, needy and unrelenting, dropping his hold on Dwalin’s cock and cupping his face.

The prince’s pupils are completely dilated, and Dwalin feels a sense of pride, knowing he is the reason for Thorin’s arousal. He rests his hands on Thorin’s hips, patting them softly so he gains Thorin’s attention. He gestures to the bedroom with a jerk of his head. Thorin kisses him again, quickly, jumping up and practically running to the bedchamber, stripping items of clothing as he goes.

Dwalin finds the prince lounging on the bed, entirely naked, unabashed in his nudity and Dwalin’s mouth waters slightly at the sight. He strips slowly, ignoring Thorin’s request for him to hurry up, placing his shirts, breeches and undergarments neatly on the table. Dwalin smirks and even _folds them_ , lip quirking when Thorin sits up quickly and scolds him.

“Dwalin!” Thorin all but shouts. “Stop folding your damn clothes and come here.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Dwalin responds, watching as Thorin’s eyes narrow at the title. He manages to sit on the bed before Thorin grabs the back of his head roughly and forces him forward for a kiss.

“Have sex with me,” Thorin commands against his lips, draping himself around Dwalin. “Now, Dwalin.”

Dwalin runs his tongue along the crease of Thorin’s lips, dipping inside and flicking against the roof of his mouth, drawing a moan out of Thorin’s throat and into their kiss. Thorin opens his mouth wider, hungry, pulling Dwalin close and laying back once again. His thighs open at Dwalin lays on top of him, biting his bottom lip when their erections slide against each other. Dwalin’s lips bruise to a swell under Thorin’s ministrations, the prince kisses him with such force he knows they will be sore tomorrow.

He pulls away to reach for some oil, he knows this is Thorin’s first time, as Dwalin would have beheaded any other who dare defile the prince, but Thorin pushes a bottle into his palms. He dips his head and kisses Thorin, who clutches him tightly, dragging him so close no air separates their bodies. Dwalin pulls away to focus on the corked bottle of oil. It’s fiddly, Thorin grows impatient at the situation and Dwalin glares at him - he did not design the wax seal around the bottle so shut up.

Thorin is silent, though he does touch Dwalin, gentle fingers trace the head of his cock in interest, changing to holding his flesh instead, genuine curiosity spurs Thorin on, as if determining the size or difference between them. Thorin’s own cock is hard and flushed against his belly. When he finally strips the wax from the oil bottle, no help from Thorin, he might add, he liberally coats his fingers with it, nudging Thorin’s legs apart with his elbow. Thorin’s leg twitches where he’s raised it next to Dwalin in anticipation.

The sheer trust Thorin places in Dwalin makes itself very evident at this point. It is no secret; first time coupling with another male is not pleasant in the beginning, causing all kinds of discomfort and pain, the feeling so foreign and odd that muscles tense and most give up.

Thorin does tense when Dwalin pushes a finger in, but relaxes just as quickly, allowing Dwalin’s finger up to the knuckle, taking him by surprise. He raises an eyebrow at Thorin in wonder, and Thorin’s expression is so open and welcoming it makes Dwalin still and unmoving. His heart clenches as he stares at the prince, a warm feeling rushing through him.

“Dwalin,” Thorin whines, despite knowing what has caused his bed partner to stop. “Please, I want you.”

Dwalin blinks slowly, trying not to rut into the mattress at the words alone, and focuses his attention back between Thorin’s legs. He gently adds a second finger, watching in aroused astonishment when the ring of muscle gives and accepts him in. He twists his fingers around, trying to find the nub of nerves he knows exists, to avoid any discomfort as he does, he dips his head and sucks the tip of Thorin’s cock into his mouth.

The response is immediate. “Dwalin!” Thorin manages between gritted teeth, hips bucking uncontrollably at the sudden sensory overload. He feels the bundle of nerves against his middle finger and seizes the opportunity to add a third finger, stretching Thorin even more. He sucks hard on the head of Thorin’s cock, free hand shifting to hold the base as he laps at the very tip, then switching to pin the prince to the bed.

Thorin shrieks in his grip, the sound taking Dwalin by surprise, impressed the prince’s voice could even reach such a high octave. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dwalin,” Thorin rants, unable to thrust due to Dwalin’s arm pinning him down, hands scrunched in the sheets so tightly his knuckles are bone white. His hand scrambles for purchase on Dwalin’s shoulder, clutching, digging in until his nails leave crescent imprints. Dwalin ignores him, and pulls away entirely, fingers easing out slowly.

“Ready?” He asks, surprised by how deep his voice has dropped in his arousal.

“Yes,” Thorin hisses, fingers digging in to his forearms as Dwalin eases his way inside, choking back a groan at the tight, enveloping heat. He can barely force enough oxygen into his lungs at the sheer pleasure, so he leans forward and rests his weight on his arms. Thorin’s eyes are glazed, head thrown back against the pillows, hair falling from the tie and over the sheets.

“Please,” Thorin begs as Dwalin begins to thrust, “I want you close to me.”

An obscure statement, to say the least, but Dwalin understands what he means and indulges the prince, pressing a kiss to the skin over his heart with a rumbled, “always, Thorin.”

He’s learnt the angle to thrust, thankfully, and starts off slowly, to allow Thorin to become used to the feeling of a cock inside of him, Thorin gives an appreciative hum and drags him down for a kiss. Dwalin is surprised by his own self control, though he feels it begin to wane when Thorin moves his hips in time with Dwalin’s own, meeting him, driving him deeper, and harder. Thorin’s eyes glaze over as they continue, whimpers of pleasure turning into moans of genuine passion, body arching unnaturally as his body twists at the unfamiliar sensations.

“Yes, yes, keep going, don’t stop,” Thorin rambles.

Dwalin’s legs strain, orgasm coiling in his loins, the pressure around his cock is so tight, and so immense he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long. He rests his head in the crook of Thorin’s neck, hips now snapping against the underside of Thorin’s arse, the pace almost brutal for a first time, but Thorin is made of sturdier stuff, he muses, can take more of a pounding. 

He bites Thorin on his neck as he comes, living a bite of his own as his thrusts become jerky and uncontrolled, all finesse gone and uncared for. He’s about to reach between them to finish Thorin, when the prince’s body tenses under Dwalin’s, thighs clenching as Dwalin works the orgasm out of him, pinning him in between Thorin’s legs as the prince’s come shoots from the head of his cock, white stripes landing on his belly and chest. Thorin’s eyes roll back in his head, panting at the pleasure, a displeased frown flickers across his face as Dwalin pulls out, some of his seed slips out also, but he ignores it, collapsing on top of Thorin and resting his head on Thorin’s chest. 

Thorin, surprisingly, says nothing about the weight on top of him, settling for running his fingers through Dwalin’s mohawk.

*

“You bit me,” Dwalin complains. “It hurt.”

Thorin rolls his eyes, turning his head to look at Dwalin, forcing himself into a sitting position. He stares for some time, eyes raking over Dwalin’s neck for a long moment, too long, and Dwalin begins to feel self-conscious. He hitches the blanket up to cover his body but Thorin stops him with tentative fingers, tracing the bite mark and all of the others he has left. Thorin laughs loudly, dragging a mirror over from the dresser and thrusting it in Dwalin’s face.

Dwalin stares at his reflection and glares at Thorin’s grinning face behind it.

His neck is covered in little love bites. Five to the left side and seven to the right, one huge one near the junction of his right collarbone. “Jus’ what in the fuck,” Dwalin attempts, touching each of them and wincing when they actually hurt, while Thorin chortles to himself. These love bites cannot be hidden. “Thorin!”

 _Plan: Get Thorin To Bed Without A Fuss_ successfully completed, never mind the few hiccups along the way.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Slippery Slope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148111) by [SilverFountains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFountains/pseuds/SilverFountains)




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